An Interview with Superman

I'd never heard Glenda complain about any of the things she'd accused me of in her office today. Of course I was ambitious, but I was also intelligent enough to know opportunities didn't come along that frequently in the publishing business. What was so bad about being patient?

And that crack about my sexual performance: that was a low blow -- literally. She'd never complained even once. Besides, I felt certain that she'd had frequent orgasms when we'd had sex. But if she hadn't been satisfied, I would have been happy to do more or try something different if only she'd said something. Nevertheless, I had to admit that her insult shook me at a fundamental level.

I looked down at myself and noticed the incipient roll of fat developing around my waistline. Shit! I had let myself get sloppy. I used to keep myself in pretty good shape when I was in college, but the thickness around my middle was something I couldn't deny. Beer and bar food, I thought guiltily.

I made a vow to myself on the spot: join a gym, skip the booze. After Glenda's scathing evaluation of me today, I had no illusions about getting her back – or wanting to, for that matter – but I could damned sure show her that I could have changed if she had only given me the chance. I pulled out my smartphone and found a gym not too far from my office. It wasn't cheap, but I figured that what I could save on beer would help make it manageable.

I was back at work the next morning carrying my gym bag, and for the next two weeks I went for a workout every day after work. My muscles ached, but not nearly as much as my ego and, I admit it, my heart. Even though Glenda had turned into some kind of harpy, I couldn't just instantly fall out of love with the woman who'd been my wife only a short while ago.

The other junior editors had been after me to join them in their post-business-hours outings, but I'd been ducking them, making one excuse or another to beg off. I didn't want to tell them that I'd given up booze, I didn't want them to know I was now going to the gym every day, and most of all I didn't want to admit the reason why.

But of course I was foolish to think I could maintain the façade for long. Sure enough, one afternoon I got a call from Candy at the front desk that I had a visitor. When I went out there, I saw a man whom I was sure I'd never met before. Nevertheless, he gave me a pleasant smile and asked, "Alex Stevenson?"

"Yes?" I said curiously.

He reached under his arm and handed me an envelope. "Mr. Stevenson, you have been served." With that he bowed to Candy, turned and walked away.

Candy had already been through a few husbands so she knew exactly what had just happened. Even if she hadn't, the expression on my face would have been a dead giveaway. "Oh, Alex, I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't know you and Glenda were having problems."

I nodded at her words and turned to walk back to my desk, not trusting my voice to say anything. Of course I'd been expecting something like this, but the finality of the divorce petition still had a real impact on me.

The envelope was sitting unopened on my desk when the clock reached 5:00, and then my three best work friends were standing in front of me. "Come on, Alex," Marie said, grabbing my arm. "You're coming with us."

I tried to protest, but the three of them wouldn't relent and I had no real will to resist. When we got to the bar, they all looked at each other when I ordered a club soda with lemon, but no one said anything. Finally, Jacob seized the bull by the horns. "Okay, Alex, Candy told us about what happened earlier today. Come on and spill it: what happened with you and Glenda?"

And I did. I hadn't intended to air my dirty laundry in front of my friends, but it had been festering so long inside me that once I started it all came out, even the details of my humiliating encounter with Glenda in her office.

"That bitch," Tommy exclaimed, "I bet she shacked up with Connor – ouch!" He turned to Marie with an accusatory glare. "What'd you kick me for?"

But I ignored their little interplay and seized on what Tommy had been saying. "'Shacked up with Connor'? Are you talking about Connor James at her law firm? What does he have to do with Glenda?" I demanded.

"Well, after we saw him sucking face with her, it was pretty obvious – oww! Dammit, Marie, that really hurts!"

"Don't you know when to keep your mouth shut?" Marie hissed at Tommy, as he stood there rubbing his shin. Then she turned to me with an apologetic look on her face. "I'm sorry, Alex. The three of us went out to dinner back in March, and afterwards we stopped at a bar and saw them together. The way the two of them were behaving it was pretty obvious what was going on."

I did some quick mental calculations. "No, that couldn't have been her. She was taking a night course back in March."

"Oh, yeah," Jacob chimed in, "she was taking a night course, alright." Then he saw Marie's angry look and he quickly took a step back out of range of her foot.

"Don't either of you ever think before you speak?" she asked in exasperation. She turned back to face me. "Alex, that wasn't the only time. The two of them haven't exactly been discrete."

Now I was angry as well as humiliated. "You knew and you didn't tell me? What kind of friends are you, anyway?"

Marie took my hand. "Come on, Alex, it's not that easy. We didn't know what was really going on and none of us wanted to spread rumors. Besides, they were so blatant about it, we thought maybe you knew and . . ."

"You thought I knew and it was okay with me?" I asked in amazement. "I can't believe this!" I started to head for the door, but Jacob grabbed my arm.

"Look, man, the truth is that if one of us had told you, you'd have denied it and started hating us instead. You know it's true: everybody shoots the messenger."

In my heart I knew he was right, but that didn't make me feel any better. It was bad enough being demeaned in front of Glenda's workmates; to be cuckolded in front of my friends felt like more than I could take. It was coup de grace, the ultimate wound.

Alex looked up at me, embarrassed but defiant. "Anyway, that's when I decided to start wearing the Superman suit."

I'd been so engrossed in his story that I had to shake myself to snap out of my reverie. I'd been dumped before and it had hurt a lot, but Alex's experience must have been a lot more painful and humiliating.

I snapped back into reporter mode. "But I still don't understand, Alex. How did you make the leap from abandoned husband to wearing a Superman costume?"

He resumed his story.

I wasn't sure if I could bear to go back to work, but I forced myself to go to the gym the next morning because physical exertion seemed to be the only way I could take my mind off everything else. That morning, it didn't work: all I could think about was wanting to hide, to become invisible, or to turn into someone else. Finally I gave up in defeat and left.

On my way to the office I passed a bookstore. In the window was a display of books and posters about superheroes. I'd loved comic books and cartoons as a kid and had seen almost all of the comic book hero movies. Like every kid, I'd wished I could be a superhero. Now, in my despairing state of mind, those memories came back to me in full force.

Then I remembered the previous Halloween when I'd gone to a costume party dressed as Batman. It was just a cheap mask and suit, but I'd felt good when I'd put it on and I'd enjoyed the party immensely. But now the superhero I envied was Superman because he couldn't be harmed. After all the pain and humiliations I'd suffered, the idea of being invulnerable seemed supremely desirable.

I guess a whole lot of things came together in me all at once. My life was miserable and I wanted to be somebody different. I felt weak and helpless, and wanted to be somebody strong. More than anything, I felt vulnerable and I didn't want to be hurt any more.

I know I probably sound crazy. And honestly, I really did know that wearing a Superman suit wouldn't make bullets bounce off of me. It's just that I wanted to feel like that for a little while, even if it wasn't real. I just felt so terrible that I felt I had to try something, no matter how nutty, to make myself feel better. Anyway, it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time, so I did it.

When he fell silent, I decided I needed to change gears. "Okay, so how did you get your costume?"

He brightened up. "Between my apartment and my subway stop there's a little tailoring shop. It's run by a wonderful old seamstress named Golda Mermelstein. Anyway, on my way home I stopped in and told her what I wanted. She listened to me silently while I described what I was looking for, then pulled out her tape and began to take my measurements as though what I'd asked for was an every-day occurrence. "You should come back in a week," she said in her thick Yiddish accent. And that's how I got my costume," he concluded. "She did an amazing job."

He stood up and turned around so I could admire Mrs. Mermelstein's handiwork, and I realized that my initial impression had been correct: Alex really was pretty fit. The stretchy material clung tightly to him, and I took a minute to admire the workmanship.

He coughed politely, and I realized I'd been staring too long. I quickly grabbed my pad and looked at the notes I'd prepared. "Why don't you tell me about the first time you wore the suit?" I asked.

He sat back down. "The next Saturday was when I decided to wear it out for the first time. It was the scariest night of my life."

He grinned at me suddenly. "It wasn't easy to get into it the first time, you know. I have a new sympathy for women who wear pantyhose. But anyway, it felt pretty good once I got it on, kind of like athletic wear. Besides, I told myself, it would take forever to get out of it again so I might as well go with it."

As I walked to the subway, I noticed a number of people staring at me, but nobody said anything. I guess people in New York are used to seeing odd-looking people walking down the street. But I did notice that when I went down to wait on the subway platform, the people around me all edged away.

The same thing happened when I got in the subway car: nobody would sit near me or look at me. But after a while I noticed a little girl maybe six years old, riding with her mother. She was staring at me, and all of a sudden she came running over and asked, "Are you Superman?"

I saw her mother start to panic and I didn't want to scare her so I kept my arms by my side and smiled at the little girl. "No," I told her, "I just like to dress up like Superman sometimes." Then, before her mother could grab her away from me, I asked, "Do you like to play dress-up?"

The little girl looked at me solemnly. "Oh yes, but I like to dress up like a princess." With that, she raised her hands over her head and twirled like a ballerina. I smiled again and began to ask her about being a princess. Her mother watched me closely, but I could see some of the tension relax in her face. I also noticed some of the other passengers watching us, and I even caught a smile or two from them.

The little girl and I chatted until I reached my stop. I got up slowly, trying not to make any sudden moves. "I have to go now." I gave her a little wave. "Bye-bye, princess."

She waved back at me. "Bye-bye, Superman."

As I stepped off onto the platform, the little girl's mother gave me a little smile and I nodded at her in acknowledgement. I felt really good.

But an even greater test lay ahead. I'd decided to see what it felt like being around a crowd of people, so I'd planned to go to a popular night spot and hang out. When I reached the door, I could see that the place was packed, and I hesitated. Then I thought to myself, "Superman wouldn't be scared to go in there. He'd walk in like he owned the place." So I pushed open the door and entered.

As I walked toward the bar, I could hear the volume of noise drop as I went by knots of people. As soon as I passed them a sort of buzz filled the quiet, and I knew that people were wondering what to make of me. But the bartender was cool when he spotted me, and he calmly asked me for my order like this happened every night. My request for club soda and lime didn't even merit a raised eyebrow.

As I stood there sipping my drink, a guy standing next to me tapped me on the shoulder. "So, like, are you in a movie or something?" he asked.

"No," I told him, "I just wanted to do this to try something different."

"Okay, cool," he said, and started to turn away. I felt relieved. I'm normally pretty introverted, but I decided that if I had come this far, I might as well push myself a little further.

"So are you a fan of the Superman movies?" I asked him, and soon we were in a conversation about comic book hero movies. Other people around us started to join in and we had a great time debating the relative merits of various action heroes. Finally, a woman next to me pulled out her cellphone to take a picture of me, and when I saw the time I was surprised. I'd been having such a good time I hadn't realized how late it had gotten. I settled up with the bartender, leaving him a nice tip, and headed for the exit. As I reached the door, someone in the crowd shouted out, "Good night, Superman," and a number of people joined in. I turned, waved and gave a flourish with my cape to the laughter and cheers from the crowd.

Nothing else happened on the subway back to Queens, but when I walked into my apartment I felt so good that I delayed taking off my Superman suit because the whole experience had been so positive. Later, after I'd gotten into bed, I realized that that was the first time I'd spent a whole evening without thinking about Glenda.

After that, I began to wear the suit almost every weekend and a lot of weeknights too. Most people seemed to like it when they saw me in it, and I found that I really didn't feel so vulnerable any more. And it was a great conversation starter.

Alex smiled at me, and I couldn't help smiling back. I guess I was glad for him, but I suspected that although his life in a superhero costume had started well, there might be a dark side. I'd just have to see.

"Okay, " I said, "I think that's enough of the interview for now. I'll want to get back together with you for a few more questions later, but we need to get over to the park for some photos."

My editor had made arrangements with one of our staff photographers to get some shots of Alex in his costume in Central Park. In the first place, there were some nice backdrops that would make for good photos. Also, Alex had let us know that he often went there, and we hoped we might get some shots of him interacting with people there.

The two of us piled into a cab, and the cabbie couldn't stop staring at Alex's costume. To my surprise, Alex began to engage him in conversation, and soon the two of them were discussing the merits of capes. "My father used to wear a cape in the old country," the driver revealed, and Alex commented that they were surprisingly comfortable. I tried not to roll my eyes, but I have to admit I found it a bit charming when Alex made a point of shaking the cabbie's hand and wishing him well. The old fellow's response was equally warm, and I realized I'd just witnessed Alex make a new friend. Very interesting.

I was going to suggest that we pose Alex on one of the arched bridges in the park, but the photographer wanted him to stand on a granite outcropping, which really looked dramatic. From the right angle you could even see the twin projections of the Dakota looming above the tree line in the distance.

Alex was clearly enjoying himself, moving and posing as the photographer directed yet never looking unnatural or uncomfortable. "He's really at home in that costume," I thought, and felt slightly envious of his carefree attitude.

Suddenly, a childish voice hollered, "Hey, Superman!" and then I got to see Alex really enjoy himself. In an instant he hopped down off the boulder and went up to greet the band of half-a-dozen-or-so prepubescent boys, calling several of them by name. Soon they were sitting on the grass in a ring around Alex, listening to him tell a story about Superman that I was sure he'd made up.

Finally, a maternal voice called from across the field, and all of the boys jumped up and ran off, laughing and waving at Alex. "Sorry about that," he said as he returned to us. "I've met those kids here before, so I couldn't just blow them off. Besides, I really like kids; I'd like to have a couple myself." Then his face momentarily lost its smile, and I knew he was thinking about his failed marriage. I couldn't help it: my heart went out to him. But he soon shrugged off the mood and his smile returned.

I turned to talk to the photographer. "Did you get everything you needed?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah," she said enthusiastically, "the poses on the rocks were great. And I got a lot of good shots while he was telling stories to those kids, too."

Then she looked at me oddly and whispered. "Is that guy for real?"

I shook my head. "I wish I knew."

I walked back over to his side. "You were great with the kids, and it sounded like things went well in the bar that night you told me about. But don't people ever laugh at you or make jokes?" I asked him.

"Oh, sure," he said casually, "lots of times. But I just wave and smile at them, and they don't bother me." He looked at me shrewdly. "I have a way of handling things like that. Whenever something unpleasant happens, I ask myself 'What would Superman do?' For example, if somebody started making fun of Superman, it wouldn't bother him at all. He'd know who he was and what he could do, and their remarks would bounce right off of him like bullets."

I had my doubts. "What if people don't want to talk to somebody who's wearing a costume? Don't you find that you put people off sometimes?"

"I suppose so," he said thoughtfully, "but if they don't want to deal with me that's fine. I'm not trying to impose myself on others, I'm just trying to get by like everybody else. I just do it in a different way."

He saw that I was skeptical, and suddenly he perked up. "Hey, I've got an idea – are you doing anything tomorrow night?"

When I admitted that I had no plans, he got excited. "Instead of another interview, why don't you come out with me? We'll go someplace and you can see what it's like for yourself."

When I hesitated, he leaned across the table eagerly. "Come on, it'll be fun. What have you got to lose?"

This was starting to turn into more than I'd bargained for, but I knew what my editor would want me to do, and besides, his enthusiasm was infectious. "Alright, I'll do it," I told him, and he looked genuinely pleased.

Back at my apartment that night, I told Terri, my roommate, about my weird interview. She too thought he sounded like just another nut case. When I told her that I had accepted his invitation to tag along with him the next night, she just rolled her eyes. "Come on, Elle," she said, "can't you find a normal guy to go out with?"

I laughed, but her words stung a little. I'd had a few unfortunate encounters, and Terri knew I was gun-shy. Of course, Terri considered herself more like my guardian angel than an apartment-mate, but I appreciated her watching out for me.

Not surprisingly, I was a little apprehensive the next night when my cab dropped me off at the bar where I was supposed to meet Alex. I had no idea what to expect and the fact that Alex was nowhere in sight didn't make me feel any better.

But suddenly I heard my named being called, and when I turned around, there was Alex in his Superman suit bounding down the sidewalk toward me. "This is going to be fun," he said with a confident smile, and, taking my hand as though it was the most natural thing in the world, he led me inside.